Hammerhead Resurrection (15 page)

Jeffrey walked down a corridor, his steps heavy, his mind wandering.

A voice came over the corner mounted speaker ahead. “Captain Holt, please report to the flight command center immediately.”

Turning, he walked down the corridor as quickly as possible under the heavy G’s. The call could only mean one thing.

As he entered the control center, lights pulsed in dark-red arcs from the corners of the ceiling.

The flight boss, Commander Holloway, a stocky blonde woman with no nonsense eyes, regarded the room with her usual thin-lipped scowl. She asked her
miniboss, “Distance from the Sthenos destroyers?”

“They’ve stopped their approach at twenty-five hundred miles and holding ma’am.”

“When we stop acceleration, watch those Sthenos ships closely. If they launch, we launch.”

“Captain on deck,” a yeoman called out.

Holloway looked to Jeffrey, pursed her lips, and nodded to him, saying, “If it isn’t Captain Holt, who doesn’t think we’re good enough.” She touched her forehead in a relaxed, screw-you salute, before turning to the row after row of flight stations where pilots pulled on VR helmets. “Shall we prove him wrong?”

Several of the pilots nodded, but none duplicated Holloway’s hard look at Jeffrey.

Jeffrey moved a respectful distance away from her. They had to live with each other, and Jeffrey knew how to make that happen. He would pick his battles with the hardnosed flight boss. If ever there was a time to keep his mouth shut, it was now. Holloway was correct to say that Jeffrey believed they’d fail. What she didn’t realize was how much he wanted to be proven wrong.

As the moments ticked by, Jeffrey shifted his weight from side to side, hating having nothing to do. He could do more if they’d let him strap into a fighter. But these new fighters, Wraiths as they were called, had their seats pulled and replaced with servo motors, cameras, and sensors.

The faint rumble of the Lacedaemon’s main engines vanished along with Jeffrey’s weight. His boots auto-locked to the deck. He braced himself, as the navigation officer called out, “Beginning turn.” With no windows, the sudden side force of the turn was nothing more than a shoving sensation. The force faded as the engines came to bear on their destination.

“Ma’am,” a flight control officer said, “The flight groups are ready for launch.”

Holloway leaned toward the Nav-Con where the Sthenos destroyers hovered. “Watch ‘em folks.”

“They’ve stopped their acceleration ma’am. Holding at twenty-five hundred miles.”

“They’ll launch fighters soon.”

As if Holloway’s comment had initiated it, a blur of yellow sparks marking Sthenos fighters began to pour from the sides of the destroyers.

Holloway clapped her hands together with a sharp crack. “That’s it ladies and gentlemen. Get ‘em spaceborne.”

“Yes, ma’am,” her
miniboss said. “First wave, launch.”

Jeffrey’s frame instinctually locked at the command. So many launches had slammed the seat into his back, compressing his chest, forcing his breath into short huffs. One of the VR pilots sipped from a sealed mug of coffee. With that, Jeffrey felt he was watching the end of the world in slow motion.

The flight control center had two Nav-Con’s, each half the size of the ten foot goliath on the bridge. To the right, brilliant-green pinpoints of light emerged from the sides of the Lacedaemon and the other destroyers, moving away in tight fingertip formations. On the left, high-res pinpricks of yellow continued pouring from the Sthenos destroyers.

As the fighter markers swarmed on each Nav-Con, Holloway looked to Jeffrey. “Each destroyer has fielded, give or take, 100 piloted drones. Each of those will be wingmanned by two A.I. drones.”

Fifty-seven destroyers, each fielding three hundred fighters give or take…
Is that possible?

A slight sneer crept into the corner of Holloway’s thin-lipped mouth. “Something troubling you Captain Holt?”

Jeffrey’s curiosity overrode his pride. “Are we actually fielding some 17,000 fighters today?”

Her smile broadened, seeming to Jeffrey to be filled, not with humor, but derision. “Might that change your assessment?” She held her hand out to the VR pilot stations. “This method allows for far greater numbers. You beat the Sthenos with what, 1,000 Hammerheads at your best?”

“No, never that many—at the most seven hundred. We lost too many to maintain headcount.”

She gave a dismissive laugh. “Today we overrun the Sthenos with sheer numbers.”

Jeffrey watched the right-side Nav-Con as the fighters began to pull away from the fleet. The pilots in the room were now focused on their jobs, hands on the controls, VR visors down, quiet comments into headsets. He did not share her confidence. The Sthenos had proven to be formidable against larger numbers… but not this many. Perhaps he had been wrong.

“Engagement in four minutes, ma’am.”

“Good,” Holloway said before turning to Holt. “Would you care to put on a helmet? Take over one of the wingman AI drones?”

“No,” Jeffrey said in a tone he hoped would come across as polite.
Not yet anyway.

He looked across the sea of helmets at flight stations, pilots reclined in their seats…

“Holloway,” he asked, “are these seats taken directly from the Wraiths?”

Looking at him as though she found the question’s simplicity offensive, she said, “Of course. We contracted standard fighters, removed the seats and controls, and built them into these flight stations.

Jeffrey looked back to the pilots… so relaxed. She no doubt saw men and women at ease, ready for the fight. He whispered to himself, “17,000 fighters and not one heart fully committed.”

No one might die now, but the dying will begin after the fighters are gone. Might that be enough to keep these pilots fired up?

He doubted that. The human mind could too easily build separation from trauma.

On the left Nav-Con, yellow sparks continued to mist from the sides of the Sthenos destroyers. Jeffrey watched the fighters come, hundreds and now thousands, but not tens of thousands.

The room fell silent as the two forces closed on each other.

“Give me a view of the engagement field on Nav-Con 1,” Holloway said. The left Nav-Con, where the fleet had been, went empty.

Jeffrey realized he was gripping his tongue with his teeth.

After a few minutes of silence, green sparks appeared on the left Nav-Con moving with slow determination toward center. Now, yellow sparks emerged on the far side.

“Engage at will flight leads,” Holloway said.

“Yes, ma’am,” came several responses.

Stacy Zack had reported the effectiveness of the pulse nukes, but under full acceleration, the warheads would be unable to pull away from the Wraiths. The Wraiths accelerated so hard, they would actually leave the fired warheads behind. Due to this, Donovan and Holloway had decided not to include them in the Wraith’s armament. They did, however, have singularity warheads, but due to the scarcity of early production, only in one third of the ships.

As the sparks of light came close to each other, Holloway said, “Zoom in. Set the perimeter at the outermost fighters.”

As the Nav-Con zoomed in further, the sparks of light remained only that, but the space between them magnified until Jeffrey could see separate flight groups. Jeffrey gripped the railing as he willed them to hold—stay on course until the last possible moment, but the flight leads committed to maneuvers too early, and the Sthenos read them. In coiling arcs, the Sthenos bore down on the pilots. The green sparks began winking out.

As the fighters engaged, a few Sthenos lights winked out as well, but Jeffrey estimated it was twenty to one in the first few moments. They would have to do better, much better.

Curses and grumblings began to come from the pilot stations.

Above several of the pilots’ heads, the green connection lights flicked to red.

“Stay in the fight folks,” Holloway said, “Your flight coordinators will assign you to AI drones as your fighters are destroyed.”

As more of the green sparks flicked out on the Nav-Con, Jeffrey felt as though he could see the ranks already thinning.

A green spark curled around the outside, chasing a Sthenos fighter. It was in a good position. An excellent position. An AI fighter came arcing toward the same Sthenos ship.

As the AI drone and the piloted drone rushed into the same space Jeffrey said under his breath, “You have to let it go.”

Of course, if the pilot had been in the cockpit, he or she would have let it go, or the pilot would have died, but here the stakes were lower. The pilot would simply be switched to another fighter, so holding on risked only hardware. As the two green sparks met, joined, and winked out, a pilot slammed his fists on the console.

“There’s a delay,” he shouted as he pulled off his VR helmet. “I can’t keep up.”

Holloway yelled, “Stay in your helmet Lieutenant!”

With faint anger in his eyes, the pilot pulled his helmet on. The light above his console switched from blood red to brilliant
green. As he re-entered the dogfight, a river of obscenities immediately coursed from his mouth. His light turned red.

“Shit!” he screamed.

“Take another one pilot,” Holloway said.

Jeffrey moved to Holloway and touched her arm.

Holloway, obviously frustrated, glared at Holt. “Yes captain?”

“Give him a minute to center himself or you’ll lose another fighter.”

Holloway’s eyes narrowed. “We’re losing fighters anyway.”

Jeffrey stepped back. “As you will commander. I meant no disrespect. I’m a guest in your house.”

Holloway kept her eyes on Jeffrey as she said, “Pilot! Take another drone!”

The pilot made it a full thirty seconds before his connection light flicked to red again. It stayed red this time.

“Take… another… Lieutenant,” Holloway growled.

Jeffrey had been watching the count screen, so he already knew what Holloway didn’t. There were no more free drones. The Lacedaemon’s contingent of fighters, which had been at 300 was now down to less than 100. The dogfight had been on for all of two minutes. The fighter contingents from the other ships appeared to be fairing no better.

The pilot Holloway had been brow beating offered no response to his commander. He sat still, his right hand holding the flight stick.

Jeffrey touched Holloway’s arm again. Her eyes snapped to him. She separated each word in a furious staccato. “What—is—it—Captain?”

Jeffrey, keeping his face neutral, pointed to the flight status display screen.

She looked, and her anger melted to shock. She whispered, “Eighty-seven?” When she looked to Jeffrey, he shrugged his shoulders.

Her eyes hardened, and she turned, seeming ready to shout more commands, but her expression faded like fog in hot sun. She looked back to Jeffery. Her voice quiet, just between him and her, she asked, “What do we do?”

“We have no manned fighters?”

“None.”

“Then we die.”

Jeffrey knew too well, after the fighters, the Sthenos destroyers would come for the fleet. Without fighters to trouble them, the Sthenos would be methodical. First, they would make high speed passes, shooting away the fleet’s gun batteries. With those gone, they’d take out the main engines, leaving the destroyers floating dead in space. At that point, the Sthenos destroyers would close distance and blow the Lacedaemon and the rest of the fleet apart with their main guns. Without fighters, there were no singularity warheads. Those had been—as the Hammerheads had so many decades ago—the crux all hopes hung on. Now all but gone… unless.

“This is going to be over quickly commander,” Jeffrey said. “Request permission to take command of the strike force.”

Holloway stared at him with unabashed disbelief. “You want
command
?”

“We need to move fast, ma’am.”

Holloway glanced at the flight count display, which continued to drop.

“There’s no shame in it,” Jeffrey said, as gently as he could, “We have to move quickly though. It would take too long to explain. I need you to trust me.”

Her expression was closed off, face reddening.

Jeffrey guessed that her anger wasn’t directed at him, but at the devastation of having lost so much so fast. Her eyes softened as she nodded absently. When she said, “You have command, sir,” he heard abdicated failure in her voice.

He was glad she’d capitulated. He would have ordered it if necessary, but better to preserve her sense of self worth as much as possible. If they lived through the next hour, they’d need as many officers at the top of their game as possible, including Holloway.

The pilots with no ships to fly had turned sideways in their seats, watching their commanders.

Jeffrey said, “I need you to announce the transfer.”

“Yes, sir.” She moved to a microphone. “This is Commander Holloway, turning command of the strike force over to Captain Holt.”